


A Feeling Within (I Fought it Back Into the Chest)

by NutmegQueen



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 22:43:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11907735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NutmegQueen/pseuds/NutmegQueen
Summary: Some people feel as though their careers are paramount to their love life. Some people haven't had their flights cancelled, and stood out in the rain at 7 am to return a wallet to the prettiest girl they've ever laid eyes on.





	1. Goldroad

Tan coloured brick walls splay out before Sansa, as far as the eye can see. The lilt of conversations, none too specific, carry through the winding streets from the mouths of busy pedestrians. They serve to give the world around her a quiet hum. She strides confidently through the street, passing by all the tiny market stands, smiling politely as the vendors called out in plea for her to try this and that. She keeps her pace steady, not bothering to slow for them, and turning over the piece of paper in her hand.

The warm air of King’s Landing had become all to familiar to her over the past year, but the buildings, the colour of rich Cannibal Sands of Essos, still weren’t. Sansa had grown up in a world of white back in the North. While pictures of the capital had fascinated her as a child, they hadn’t ever done justice to the atmosphere of it. On sunny days like this, the tawny brick of the city, the hum of the population and the whirring of cars felt new and fresh and unfamiliar.

"372 Goldroad. Corner lot.” She murmurs to herself. She brings her hand up to shield her eyes as she searches for numbers on some of the towering buildings she passes. 360. _Getting closer._ She eyes up ahead, and can make out where the string of tall buildings on the block end. She knows that the one on the very corner must be her destination.

She readjusts her peacoat smartly, feeling a little warm in it. When she had left on the plane from Winterfell this morning, the coat had been just enough to keep her cozy, but here in the capital, it might be a bit heavy, even with the temperatures dipping here. Flipping her hair out of the places it has settled in her collar, she steps with a little more purpose.

Arriving at the tall building, she looks it up and down, noting the “372” above it’s doors in a regal black font. Opening the large glass doors, she walks through the sitting area and takes a seat next to a few others who appear to be waiting for something. She takes in the tall white walls of the room, noting how clean it looks. White was too often a dreary colour, it reminded her of hospitals, or something.

Just as she begins to contemplate the design of the building, a familiar figure appears around the corner. She smiles, as her dark eyes catch Sansa’s blue ones. A tiny smile makes it’s way onto Sansa’s lips as she sees the girl nodding to the doors. She stands abruptly to follow her out without a word.

No sooner have the glass door closed behind them, than she’s up in Sansa’s arms, squeezing her tightly.

“You’re back!” She squeals excitedly.

“I’m back.” Sansa smiles excitedly into her dark hair.

_

Margaery pulls her green blazer tight around her frame, turning side on to admire her figure up and down. She buttoned the front and unbuttoned it again, ultimately deciding in true Margery fashion, that she likes it better open, showing off the tight black shirt beneath; at least until she gets there. She tousles the waves of her long brown hair lightly, so as not to knock out the pieces she had pinned back perfectly on each side.

"Perhaps you could snag him a position in HR, or something." She offers into the speaker phone, her freshly glossed lips pulling into a sideways frown as she watches them in the glass.

"No." The voice comes on the other end. "He has no interest in it. He would rather chase a ball around with a stick all day, and call that work."

"Hockey is a talent, too, grandmother." Margaery can understand how that opinion would come from someone who had worked her whole life to build an empire. She still wants to defend her brother though, always.

"I don't know what kind of bills playing hockey can pay. It's his choice- but I'm not getting any younger. If he wants me to pull some strings, now would be the time. Anyway, I'll let you finish getting dolled up. Looking forward to hearing from you tonight, my dear. I'm certain you will make me proud, as always."

"Thank you, grandmother. See you soon. I love you. Be easy on him."

Two arms on her vanity, she leans in, studying her own cat-like eyes after she clicks the 'end' button. The mascara remains unclumped and fans her lashes out neatly, each one distinct. She purses her lips, and studies the soft pink lipstick on them, so soft, that it doesn't even look like its there at all. Her gaze flicks from her eyes to her lips, and she likes what she sees as she leans back again, satisfied, looking up and down the entire length of herself once more.

“Honestly, Marg.” Calls a familiar, and frustrated voice, as she hears her front door close behind him. “I can’t stand here all day.”

A smirk tugs at her lips, as she watches herself in the mirror.

Turning from it and poking around the door frame, she narrows her eyes, speaking in a gentle, but firm voice. It’s a tone that no one else can quite master in the same way. “Well it’s a good thing that I’m ready, then."

Renly grins, his pearly whites poking out, moving toward her with his arms open as he pops his black dress shoes off his feet. Margaery accepts the embrace reluctantly, though she isn’t a fan of physical contact. Closing her eyes, she lets him rock her back and forth. He smells of tobacco pipe and aftershave. Leaning back from the hug, she straightens his tie where it lies disappearing into his buttoned up navy coloured suit.

“Oh my. Looking sharp.” She smirks, an easy wink and a pair of sly eyes telling Renly that she means it, as she eyes him up and down. His beard has been reduced to a handsome amount of stubble, and she can finely make out the sharp jaw he usually hides. "The suit makes the man."

“Sometimes, the man makes the suit. I'm digging your get-up.” He grins approvingly. “I like the blazer. Dresses are tired, you know.”

“And _I,_ am tired _of_ them.” She raises her eyebrows, moving around him to retrieve her clutch.

“Your wardrobe gets more powerful as you do.” He points out seriously. "Don't think I haven't noticed. You’ve swapped your dresses for power suits.”

Margaery gives him an easy chuckle. “I have plenty of both. Are you ready, then?”

“Of course. After you.” He offers dramatically, opening the door from Margaery’s house, gesturing for her to exit before him.

“Always the gentleman.” She smirks.

Renly watches fondly as her coy smile straightens on her soft pink lips as she turns to lead him out. The bounce of her wavy chestnut hair is a little hypnotic. Even in an open blazer, when the breeze flicks it from her frame, you can see her gorgeous figure beneath. Her hips curve softly, and he can’t help but think that she truly is the divine feminine force personified. He can almost understand the craze most men have for his best friend. Almost.

_

Standing to discard her own coffee cup, Jeyne leans over the table and yanks the empty brown cup from Sansa’s hand gently, offering a warm smile to her.

“Hey. I’ve got it.”

Sansa smiles back softly, even after their eye contact breaks. Jeyne seems sufficiently less, eager, hyper, all the things that were so very, _Jeyne_ , all of a sudden. Watching as she walks to the garbage, Sansa lets her eyes roam over her for the first real time since they’ve met today.

Her dark hair falls halfway down her back now, certainly longer than when she had left after last semester. Her pencil skirt is fitting, and ends just a little too high up her knee for it to be the kind of thing Sansa herself would wear to work. She turns around quick enough to catch Sansa’s gaze, and doesn’t bother to comment on it. She knows she’s very beautiful.

“You look so grown up now.” The red head comments, smiling up at her under her eyes.

“Do you think it’s the outfit?” Jeyne smirks in jest, fingers touching the hem of her skirt.

“Could be.”

“Well, don’t sound so distraught about it.” She smacks her playfully in the arm as Sansa herself stands, pushing her chair in.

“You don’t think I ought to be distraught about aging?” She chuckles, surveying the table to make sure they’ve thrown out all their garbage.

“Nope.” Jeyne shakes her head decidedly. “Every human you’ve ever met is guilty of it. Even the ones you haven’t.”

“My. You’ve gotten wise in your old age.” Sansa comments seriously, looking her friend in the eye.

“I was always wise.” Jeyne says, feigning shock. “So, have you visited with Arya yet?”

Sansa subconsciously closes her peacoat a little tighter around her frame. The light streaming in through the window of the coffee shop makes her blue eyes squint a little more than usual. She worries a bit at her bottom lip, and if Jeyne were one to notice body language, she would’ve sworn the conversation made Sansa tense up a little.

“Ah, no. I, I only landed at 12. I dropped some things off at the house and then came straight here.” The way she looks dismissively out the window tells Jeyne that there’s probably nothing more to it.

“Oh.” She responds cheerily. “Her first game of the season is tomorrow!” Her smile is bright and genuine, and Sansa basks in it for a moment. It reminds her of the ray of sunshine that Jeyne was as a child back in Winterfell. She remembers when Jeyne lost her baby teeth and went around with a proud, toothless smile on display for months. There are still pictures of them at that age, one of which is framed at Sansa’s house.

“Well. We’re going, aren’t we?” Jeyne prods.

“Y- of course. Of course we are.” Sansa smiles. Jeyne seems pleased with the news, as they head for the glass door of the cafe.

“I met up with her a bunch over the summer, you know.” The brunette smirks as they step out into the sidewalk.

“That’s good.” Sansa acknowledges awkwardly, flipping her long red hair back off her shoulders.

“Yeah!” Jeyne beams. “She mentioned that you weren’t answering her calls, actually.”

Sansa would have been caught off guard had the words come from any other mouth in the Seven Kingdoms, except she almost expected it from the brunette. She hates the way her best friend says things like that out of the blue, and acts as if they’re topics as casual as the weather.

“Well, you know. I was working a lot.” Sansa fibs, wishing she had brought her sunglasses to hide her eyes, suddenly a bit eager to finish the walk back to her apartment.

“For gods sake, she’s your sister, Sans. Didn’t think she was worth a ring back? She was in the capital alone all summer, you know.”

“Well, you were here. She has friends from all of her, sports teams, and what not.” She gestures wildly with her hands, indicating that Arya had some other slew of friends aside from two or three teammates. It makes Jeyne’s eyebrows knit in concern.

“Yes, but none of them are her _sister_.” She scolds gently.

Sansa chances a look sideways at her, and can see the disdain and the questions dancing behind her eyes as she looks directly back. She can’t help but think that the whole situation is so backwards. Jeyne was always the rowdy one, the one being disciplined by everyone, the one Sansa was constantly encouraging to do the right thing, or to come clean. The tables had turned, and with the weight behind her dark eyed gaze, the red head realized that she didn’t like it very much on the other side of these conversations.

“I’ll call her tonight, then. I’ll let her know that we’re coming to the game tomorrow.”

She doesn’t want to, but the weight of all this, on top of the weight of returning to the city just today, and school coming up- she just, needs this resolved as quickly as possible.

“Good.” Jeyne grins, clearly feeling as if she had resolved the mysterious issue at hand. Linking her arm through Sansa’s with an easy familiarity, they continue on down the sand-coloured walls of Goldroad, arm in arm.

_

Over the past two years, Margaery has come to understand that there will always, inevitably, be an unspoken weight in the air pre-election- the banquets, conferences, and dinner parties. They were a facade, masked as lovely evenings based on social interaction, on friendship and cordial greetings and well wishes. Gatherings of the superior minded, where they all got to dress pretty and share a few kind words.

She was smarter than that; her grandmother’s protege through and through. She may have been young in comparison to the majority of attendees, but she understood as much as anyone that these were campaigns of their own. Networking events were the most opportune of times to get up and say a few words, being as eloquent as possible so that when others picked them apart, she remained exemplary.

“What time are you on?” Renly asks quietly, polite smile on his face as she leads him through the crowd at the bottom of the step, his hand in the small of her back. "I may risk finding Loras." The lights of the city make the whole area glow white. Limousines pull up and pull out again, emptying finely dressed men and women onto the street side.

“Ten.” She replies lowly, politely smiling at everyone who gazes at her.

“Do you have something prepared?”

“What do you think?” She smirks over her shoulder.

“Okay, true enough.” Renly offers, knowing that there might not be another soul in all Seven Kingdom’s so thorough, meticulous and hard working as his best friend.

He had, with his own two eyes, witnessed Margery receive an undergrad degree and manage a company at once, all before she had even turned 22. Her work ethic was as unwavering as it was efficient, an admirable quality that had made all the difference for them thus far in their careers.

“What will you speak on?”

“The future of the company.” She replies simply.

“No mention of your appointment as Almoner in Robert’s campaign?”

“None, because it isn’t official yet.” Margery warns him, her eyes conveying all the scolding her tone doesn't. “The title has religious connotations, Renly. I want it made clear that religion is in no way affiliated with my title, should I accept this offer. Humanitarian work has little to do with religion. Robert must gain the correct support first before we go public with that and I will explain it then. As of now, I’m merely a grad student taking over certain branches of grandmother’s company to these people. I would very much like to keep it that way.”

“Modest.” Renly smirks, poking her side.

“No. Smart.” Margery corrects, as they make their way up the large concrete steps to the great hall. “A good opponent wouldn’t give away her next move.”

“If only my brother saw in me what he sees in you.” Renly sighs. “Oh well. At least _your_ brother sees things in me.”

Margaery nudges him easily and discreetly enough that no one can really tell as she continues to smile pleasantly at the growing crowd around them.

_

Sansa paces her apartment back and forth. The marble tile of her kitchen sparkles, the hardwood could be eaten off of, it’s so spotless. There isn’t an object out of place. She tidies this, fixes that. Deep in her mind somewhere, she knows that she’s only putting off the inevitable.

She walks, once more, past the phone. This time, she’s out of excuses. Her supper is in the oven, the house is impeccable, and she doesn’t need to shower.

_I have to call her._

Picking her cell phone up off the kitchen counter, she hesitantly finds her contact list. There, at the very top, sits the name she dreads.

_**Arya** _

Taking a deep breath, she taps on the “Call” button.

A couple of rings pass, and she thinks she might have gotten off scot-free. Until, a familiar “hello?” Comes through the other side.

“Hi.” Sansa gets out, knowing of course that she was calling someone, but for some reason, having no idea what to say.

“Hi.” Her sister says again. Theres a silence for a second. “I-“

“Listen-,"They say at once.

“Okay, no, you go ahead.” Arya assures her.

“Uh, I was just wondering how you are. How was your summer?”

“Good.” Arya replies shortly. “How was yours?”

“It was good. Got to see the family again, you know.”

“Yeah.” Arya says through the phone. “How is everyone? Is dad still going to be in town this week?”

“Good! Everyone is good. Yeah, he’s flying to King’s Landing for the speeches tonight.” Sansa plays with the burgundy tinted dish towel dangling off the oven front awkwardly, cursing herself for making this call in the first place.

“Cool…” She answers lamely. "I didn’t hear from you much this summer.” Arya says, her tone isn’t accusing, but almost sounds, _hurt_. If someone like Arya could ever sound wounded, Sansa wasn’t entirely sure.

“I’m sorry. I know. I was busy, you know, with work. I got updates from Jeyne though.”

“Yeah. Her and I grabbed lunch a few times when I was around the city.” There are muffled voices in the background of the call, and Sansa wonders for a second if she’s caught her at a bad time.

“If you’re busy, I could call back later tonight, or-,”

“No.” Arya cuts her off. “No, I’m just leaving boxing. I wanna talk. It’s nice to hear your voice again, actually.”

Sansa smiles softly, knowing that Arya’s affections are very limited. Hearing her admit that she missed her is nice.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be at your game tomorrow.” Sansa offers. “We. We will be at your game tomorrow. Jeyne and I.” She corrects awkwardly, hoping that Arya actually wants them there, and isn’t still pissed off.

“Awesome.” Arya sounds genuinely pleased, much to her sisters relief.

“Grab a few pictures for mom, and stuff.” Sansa explains.

“Yeah, cool.” Arya replies. The silence looms over them, and the red head wishes she had more to talk about with her.

“Well… I should get going. I’ve gotta get out of my gear and catch the bus.”

Sansa stands in her porch now, looking out at her car in the driveway, and she feels a bit of guilt in her stomach. _My parents would be destroyed if they knew Arya was getting on some dingy bus downtown when I’ve got a perfectly good car outside._

“I can get you.” She says, before she even realizes what she’s offered. “You know, if you want.”

“You’re back in the capital?” Arya asks, sounding surprised. “I figured you were due in tomorrow, where you mentioned the game."

“Yeah, I got in today.” Sansa explains. “I would’ve told you but it was-,”

“You’re busy.” Arya cuts in. “I get it.”

It makes Sansa’s heart hurt a little. Of all her siblings, Arya is the one she’s related to the most. They both moved to the capital, they both had dreams bigger than the North. They both grew up the only girls in that house of crazy testosterone-filled boys. She hates that they fell off this summer.

“I’ll come get you now. Okay? We can have supper, I have pork roast in the oven, if you’re hungry.”

She can practically hear her younger sister smile through the phone.

“Starving.”

She can’t help but smile herself. “Okay. Text me the address. I’ll put on my boots then I’m on the way.”

“Okay. See you. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Sansa replies, and she means it.

 


	2. Not Much Time

“Lastly, moving into the next year, we would like to see at least a ten percent increase in terms of our geographical coverage. We are aware that there are a dozen outports and islands in the Kingdoms that we haven’t reached yet. We value these people as much as we value those here in King’s Landing. They are as important and as pertinent to our cause as you or I. This company will rest, _I_ , will rest, when we see them all fed and clothed. We will rest when their children can leave high school feeling as though they can open any door they wish, regardless of what doors their parents could, or could not open for them. We want grants available, we want scholarships available, and we want loan systems available with interest rates that don’t knock the common man or woman off their feet. By the end of the next calendar year, we will see ten percent more of the people in these beautiful seven kingdoms we call home, living the lives that they are owed. Living comfortably and happily as possible. That is our mission, and it is a mission I will harness on my own shoulders until we see it through.”

Margaery looks out over the crowd before her, smiling, their applause sounding thunderous. She watches as a few people rise to their feet, then a few more, until entire tables are standing.

The room is dimly lit, but she can make out some of the most familiar of faces. Loras is there, Olenna, Renly, Robert’s wife, Robert himself, Commander of the Northern Rangers- Jon Snow, the Prime Minister of Dorne, Prime Minister of the Vale, Prime Minister of the North. She still gets entirely unnerved when speaking before these people, though she knows her mission statements to be noble. She knows that each of these people admire her work for a different reason. It gives a lot of them something to play off in their political campaigns- a noble cause to donate to and support.

She’s fine with being somewhat of a political figure- it almost comes with the territory in her line of work. Being a pawn is to be expected when your work is humanitarian based; it’s the kind of work every leader wants to contribute to financially, but none of them want to take care of themselves. If they can appoint someone to do the meaningful and hard work, they’ll lap it up.

Thankfully, her grandmother has shown her the ropes better than anyone ever could. She makes sure her mission statement appeals to them, but is not to be overshadowed by any particular political campaign. Her confidence in what she does grows by the day, and her intellect and work ethic are ever present to back it up.

She takes a second to thank them all for their audience, and to wish luck to all the candidates before she makes her way off the stage with a warm smile and a wave.

_

“My dear, you are just _marvelous_.” Came a soothing and austere voice as Margaery opened the door to the patio to step outside for a breath of air.

The voice was unmistakably authoritarian, and no matter how frail it had become with age, never wavered. A smile broke it’s way onto her face as she saw the familiar gold and blue clad figure shuffling out the door behind her, a pleasant contrast against the dark night, with a lopsided smirk on her lips. Margery figured that was where she got her own tight lipped and sideways smile from. It was one of the quirkier traits of their family, that many commented, much to Margery’s chagrin, even furthered their charm.

“Grandmother!” Margery exclaimed, greeting her with open arms and a fond grin.

“Oh my dear, look at you.” Olenna cooed fondly, accepting the embrace uncharacteristically wholeheartedly. Affection was a limited resource when it came to the matriarch, but none so often received it as her only granddaughter. She drew back and held Margery at an arms length, looking her up and down.

“You do look _stunning_. You dress as smartly as your grandmother. Has anyone ever told you as much?”

Margaery laughed genuinely, shaking her head at the boastful humour.

“You’re a natural, my dear.” She almost whispers, pinching Margaery’s cheek fondly. “You command the room like an army general. The people adore you. No one ever gets a standing ovation at these nonsense events.”

“They aren’t nonsense, grandmother, they determine the leaders of these lands you and I call home.” Margaery surveys the area for any prying eyes or ears, before she laughs scandalously.

“Nonsense. Our line of work is the noble one. No matter which leader sits on that pretty throne, they need our crops, our money, our help, our hard work, our political guidance...Our family name is worth more than the silly titles they battle for. We endure.”

“We do. And to think, it all started with you.” Margery smiles, her heart full.

She knows that having a grandmother in the position of her own is what made all the difference for her. She isn’t naive; she knows there's a reason that she’s standing here, while a lot of her fellow business students are standing in the unemployment line.

The difference though, as it so often was with Margaery, is that she took none of it for granted. She didn’t want the handouts. She could have taken over the entire company by now- it had been offered. But where was the fulfillment in that?

She chose to work her way through the ranks, as others had to. All throughout university, she gave it her all, climbing through positions based on her own merit. Pulling long days and longer nights, to get her studies done on top of her work responsibilities, ignoring the heedings of her family and friends to slow down, to take the easy way sometimes.

As she leans into her grandmother's side embrace, the patio door opens again behind them, and Renly steps out into the night air.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, ladies.” He apologizes, bowing a little.

“Nonsense!” Olenna waves a hand dismissively. “I steal her from the capital tomorrow for a few days, anyways." She pats her granddaughter's head affectionately. "I’m the one whose interrupting now. I should leave you two to it.” She offers a sly smile to her granddaughter, who blushes under her gaze.

"Oh grandmother.” She blushes.

“You two behave. I’m going back in to eat some lemon cakes and listen to these oafs pollute my airwaves some more.”

“Enjoy, Lady Olenna.” Renly smiles softly.

“Enjoy, grandmother.”

She offers a cordial wave as the large door closes behind her again.

“She’s something else.” Margaery sighs, leaning on the railing, looking out of the rolling grasses behind the venue.

“She is. I bet you'll be just like her someday."

Margaery eyes him, to gauge how serious he is in saying this. When his eyes lock onto hers, they both bust into laughter.

"I think being polar opposites is the only reason we get along so well."

"True enough." Renly laughs, eyes raising in surprise. He's seen first hand how being stubborn in return worked with Olenna, and Loras eventually realized, too.

"Your speech was perfect. You speak like someone whose been in the business for decades. Like a true politician.” He compliments, holding out his champagne glass. She shakes her head.

"Not even in celebration?"

Margaery shakes her head modestly, the decorative lights bouncing off her chestnut locks, making undertones of blonde and red pop out of the rolling waves of hair. Her cat-like eyes are darker in the night, more fierce. Her skin glows electric, and her outfit remains as impeccable as it was when they had left her house a few hours earlier.

“You know, I have someone who is just dying to meet you.” He offers scandalously, after looking both ways to ensure no one is around them.

Turning sideways, she narrows her eyes at her best friend. “Is that right?” She inquires.

“Yes." He nods scandalously. “She's a friend, of a cousin of mine.”

Understanding dawns on her, she hates when he does this.

“Mhm. And is this cousin’s friend anyone I’d be meeting again around these events?”

“Highly unlikely.” Renly shrugs. “Though I couldn’t say for certain- she is here tonight, after all. She enjoyed your speech.”

“Hm.” Margaery hums, seeming entirely detached.

“Margaery, it’s nice to at least _entertain_ the idea of human interaction that isn’t just business related.” He offers, sighing the way he so often does when she dismisses his brilliant ideas. "You're only twenty three."

“This isn’t really the place to discuss it, dear.” She scolds, watching her surroundings a bit too wearily. "Not everyone you meet seeks the same things as you." Her coy smile tells him that she knows what he's getting at.

“Well, I’m just letting you know that the opportunity is there. You just say the word.”

Turning to lean sideways on the rail, she faces Renly. Taking in his honest brown eyes, his matching hair. He looks handsome in his navy tuxedo, which looks almost black in the lighting. She narrows his eyes at him.

“So- you’d be fine with me debauching your cousin’s pal?”

“I never really liked her. She’s a bit cold. A bit bitchy.” Renly shrugs, eyes searching the night sky in hopes of finding a star or two.

“Well. Sounds like just my type.” Margaery wonders aloud.

“I thought so too.”

Margaery smacks him lightly on the arm, receiving a quizzical gaze.

“What was that for?” He demands.

“Only I’m allowed to say that, you oaf.”

_

The boxing ring, as it turns out, wasn’t in the usual dingy, dusty back alley type places that Arya usually found her sporting endeavours in. No, this was a gorgeous arena. It was well lit, and tall, shaped like a dome. “ _Baylor Gym Complex_ ” Was alight atop the multitude of large glass doors, and when Sansa pulled up outside, she thought for a second that it might even be the wrong gym.

It appears pretty deserted, and she assumes it’s due to the fact that Arya’s boxing class had actually ended a half hour ago, and she had been waiting around by herself for her older sister to show up ever since.

When she sees a short figure bound down the steps with a hockey bag three times the width of her on her back, she knows it’s Arya.

She pulls the lever that opens her trunk, praying there's nothing in there that would prevent her sister from fitting the bag in.

Arya seems to manage without trouble, and she pops in the passenger seat non-chalantly.

“Well, hello stranger.” Sansa smiles.

“Hi there.”

They lean awkwardly, maneuvering to get as good of a hug as they can while sitting in a car.

“I apologize if I smell sweaty.” Arya replies sheepishly. “Not much I could do about it really.”

“Not even shower?” Sansa deadpans.

“Nope. Wanted you to enjoy it first.” Arya chuckles, having missed the feeling of picking on her strait-laced sister.

She reaches for her belt as Sansa pulls out from the curb and heads toward her apartment.

_

Margaery makes it look _easy_. You’d swear she owned the hall if you hadn’t known any better. Her empty champagne glass rests beside her hand the entire night, not having been wetted once by a stain of the bubbly. Even so, she remains one of the most approachable people in the venue. Businessmen, politicians, Prime Ministers, and everyone in between stop to offer their praise as they pass, none of which make her the slightest bit nervous in her demeanor.

She stands out; a different entity entirely than the other women in the room. Her hair isn’t in a tight bun. She isn’t draped in jewelry and finery, yet she remains the most elegant person in the room. Her loose waves sway as she turns her head to speak, the two pieces she clipped back remain perfectly in place the entire ceremony, coming into a gorgeous braid at the back of her hair. Her bright green blazer asserts her in a different way than the soft and flowing gowns of the pretty girls who stop to speak with her. When she tightens it around her frame, she does so regally, in a way that suggests she may be more inclined to be a queen than a business woman.

When she stands to make her way across the room, she makes sure to glides from person to person. Her thoughts translate into words, and pour out of her pretty pink lips seamlessly.

She stops this one and that one, shaking hand after hand. Her inviting eyes and her well placed touches never go unnoticed by those on the receiving end. Renly is positive that there isn’t a soul who comes in contact with her that isn’t utterly charmed as he watches her schmooze with a smiling Ned Stark, an often unimpressed Prime Minister of the Northern reaches.

One would almost think it accidental how she happened to saunter right into the side of one of the prettiest blondes on the premises soon after; the exact blonde that Renly had pointed out to her.

“Oh my.” She apologizes swiftly, her soft hands coming to rest on the girl’s bare arm almost instantaneously. “I apologize, my dear. It seems I wasn’t watching where I was going at all.”

The girl looks bashfully down to where Margaery’s slender fingers rest on her forearms, and back up to her inviting cat-like eyes. She appears as though she's been touched by a celebrity.

“Oh, that’s fine. My fault, really.” The girl shrugs. Her eyes narrow in realization, as she points a finger at her. “Margaery Tyrell, right?”

“In the flesh.” Margaery chuckles, smartly removing her hand once she’s happy with the contact.

“Ah.” The girl nods cordially. “My name is Alyssa."

“You don’t say?” Margaery smirks. “It just so happens, that _your_ friend is the cousin of _my_ closest friends, Renly.”

“So we’ve got to like one another, then?” The girl suggests seriously.

“One might say it’s a rule, even.” Margaery informs her.

“One I think we’ll find it easy to follow. I’m only in the capital for one night, you know. That doesn’t leave much time for fussing and fighting.”

Margaery never believed in revealing how much she knows. If she saw Alyssa’s eyes dart to her lips, she wasn’t about to acknowledge it. She knows that others find her attractive. She knows how to hide it when _she_ finds others attractive. It’s a game she can play as well as the violin. Looking past her, and into the crowd, she smiles politely past the waves of blonde hair at her acquaintances whom catch her eye in the background.

She debates for a minute, if she really wants any part in this right now. Her personal needs aren't nearly as important to her as her budding career. An interaction like this could easily go sour.

The girl clears her throat, and Margaery takes it as a sign that it’s okay to feed into it a little more, since she seems to be growing impatient.

“You’re right.” She smiles softly under her eyes, attention coming back to the foreground. She links her arm slyly through the blonde's. “Not much time at all, sweet girl.”  
_

“Do you care where I put my bag?” Arya asks over her shoulder, kicking her runners off, sending them halfway across the porch. Sansa struggles to hold the door open where she stands behind her, the giant hockey bag sticking out a yard behind her younger sister, poking Sansa in the stomach as she tries to maneuver into the house behind her.

“Put it right into whichever room you’re staying in.” Sansa says without missing a beat. “If it smells anything like the boys’ hockey bags, you are not leaving it around my house.”

“Ha!” Arya scoffs. “Which room _am_ I staying in?”

“Whichever you prefer. Just not mine. And not the one at the end of the hallway. That’s where dad will be staying if he stays here. And-“

“Just point me to a room.” Arya rolls her eyes, knowing that, no- it definitely isn’t whichever room she prefers.

Sansa walks ahead of her, flicking on lights as she goes. As Arya gazes around the house, she remembers just why she envied Sansa growing up. The feeling faded with age and time apart, but little things sparked it up now and then.

The vaulted ceilings are a bit much. She has chandeliers in rooms that people never have chandeliers in. The furniture is impeccable, the decor is extravagant. Plus, she has this gorgeous house, all to herself. She wanted for nothing. It’s true, of course, that Arya could’ve had the same. _Could’ve._

She didn’t want it, though. She knew her whole life that Sansa would run off to university as soon as time would allow. She would settle into her room in some far off land, nestled up, her “A” studded report card discarded on her desk, as she studied into the wee hours of the morning- the thought made Arya nauseous. Her goals were a little different; she wanted to compete. Boxing, hockey, rugby, hell, she’d even tried archery and fencing- both of which she was suspiciously adept at for someone with no real background.

Her great talent of course, came with minor setbacks. She could never own a pretty house- she travelled too much, with tournaments here and there, in this and that, every other weekend. It would sit empty. Whatever Ned Stark was or wasn’t- he was not a wasteful man. If the girls didn't want to live together during University, and Arya would not be present in the capital half the month- and _every month_ , he couldn’t justify a gift as large as a home. No, Arya rented rooms in shared apartments wherever she ended up playing, usually ended up hating them, and often stayed with her older sister, anyways. As much as her parents would insist the house was a gift for all the children to use, it was Sansa’s.

“No flies on you.” Arya whispers, eyes darting up the high walls, speaking more to herself than anyone.

“Huh?” Sansa asks absently, rounding the turn up her hallway.

“The house. It’s just, you keep it like, spotless.”

“Oh. You know what they say. About clean living space equating to clean head space.”

Sansa winks as she stops before a door, pushing it open and flicking on the light.

It’s the one Arya usually sleeps in when she crashes here. An easy sage green colours the walls, and the carefully selected artwork carries the theme throughout. The white comforter is simple and elegant. A dark brown desk sits in the corner, a cushy leather chair before it. The white shag rug though, is Arya’s favourite detail.

The shorter girl doesn’t appear to struggle much for someone whose carrying a bag that looks hilariously too large for her. Her size is deceiving when compared to her strength, and she flicks it easily onto the bed. She pushes Sansa lightly back out the door, closing it behind her.

The timer on the oven beeps almost perfectly on time, as they cross the threshold to the kitchen. Arya slides onto a stool by the island, watching her sister slide open the oven door.

Her red hair flows evenly down her back. It’s the kind of fiery red that most girls wished they could achieve, through a salon, or box dye...some by praying to the Old Gods and the New, and Sansa just, _had_ it. The way it fell was frustrating in itself. If Arya hopped out of the shower and let her hair air dry, it would go scraggly and knotty, and wind up sticking off her head in all directions. Sansa’s fell into light-catching, even, thick waves of lava that cascaded down her shoulders and back like some great fire set ablaze.

Arya doesn’t admire her long, because she’s used to how gorgeous she is. The smell of the roast though, is unreal. The younger girl essentially lives off takeout and protein shakes when she’s on the road. A home cooked pot roast is enough to get her salivating.

“You have no idea how thrilled I am about this. I was about to stop for McDonald’s again.”

“You don’t think that defeats the purpose of a workout?” Sansa smirks up at her as she slides her hands out of the black oven mitts.

“Eh. I’ll be working out again tomorrow, and the day after that. I can forgive myself for a Big Mac or two. I need fuel for the game tomorrow, you know.” She pats her belly.

“Come over here, then.” Sansa beckons. “You can take up your own. I know you must be starving. I am. And Gods know _I_ didn’t work out this evening. Or this week... at all.”

She moves to retrieve plates, and as she turns her back to Arya, she can’t help but smile a little at the contentment. She missed this all summer, when she was at home, and Arya was up here in the capital.

“It’s nice to have you over, you know.” She tells her, as she passes her an empty plate.

“Nice to be here.” Arya shrugs, already digging in and piling a serving onto her plate. When both plates are filled to their respective satisfactions, they meet in the dining room, taking a seat at the dark coloured table.

“Oh, I’ll get c-"

“Cutlery! Right! I’ll grab it. You- eat!” She commands her younger sister, who obliges happily and sits.

When Sansa comes rushing back in, she sits across from her sister , who has already begun the task of devouring her food.

“So good.” Arya compliments, eyes wide, through a mouthful of vegetables and roast. Sansa almost spits out her own laughing at the sight.

“Swallow before you talk.” She laughs, covering her mouth.

“Oh, go on. You sound like mom.” Arya cackles. “You don’t have to be so proper around me. I know what you’re all about.” She snorts.

Sansa lets her laugh fade. She begins to pick at her vegetables, as if something is on her mind.

“What, so you made all this and now you aren’t hungry?” The younger girl accuses, gesturing to the full plates before them with her fork. “What would you have done if I hadn’t so gallantly arrived and offered to eat you out of house and home? Huh?” She takes a huge gulp of water, and Sansa lays her fork down.

“Was it what I said, about knowing how you are? I obviously didn’t-”

“Arya. Lets not.” She cautions, sitting up a little straighter. “Let’s just eat."

“Sansa. I-” She sighs, laying down her fork, she assesses her sister face carefully. She’s tucking her red hair behind her ear, her soft features stern, her eyes cast downward as she begins to eat, pretending nothing had been mentioned at all.

Arya contemplates the circumstance, the tension that neither is acknowledging. It has to be spoken of, but, Arya resolves, it can wait until tomorrow if she’s staying the night.

“I just wanted to thank you for the invite. This is delicious.” She gestures to the table around them, and can practically see the apprehension leave her sister’s posture. “And I love having a queen sized bed to crash in."

Sansa peeks up at her from under her eyes, her gratefulness evident in her gaze and the gentle curl of her lips.

“Of course.” She offers softly. "Now eat up. You’ve got to get to that queen sized bed and rest up. You’re welcome to stay for the week if you’ll be here that long.”

“I’ll definitely be here if dad’s in the capital.” Arya nods. “I’ll probably take you up on that offer.”


	3. On The Stoop

Margaery paces quickly up and down the tiles in front of a row of well-lit windows. Holding her phone in the air, she tries, once more to get some service.

She taps the numbers on her screen with her delicate fingers, and holds the phone to her ear.

_**Ring** _

_Come on. Come on._

_**Ring.** _

Before the third ring, there’s a click noise, and a familiar voice.

“Hello?”

“Grandmother! Thank the Gods. I’m at the airport. I’m late, I know. I I slept in. I’m in front of…” She squints her eyes, to read the signs on the businesses near her position.

“...Bandit’s Brew. My phone wouldn’t pick up any service for some reason. Are you here?”

“I’m _in_ Bandit’s Brew, my sweet child. Remove the phone from your face and use your real senses, sometimes. Like vision.”

Margaery snaps around, squinting her eyes to see into the shadowy cafe. It does nothing in comparison to the enchanting lounges Olenna usually opts for in her airport downtime, but it’s got a twisted charm to it. The change of scenery can likely be attributed only to the fact that a cafe is more suitable at 6:30 am than a lounge.

Once she finds her grandmother, she joins her on the cushy dark chairs beside a wall composed of black and dark grey brick. A massive pirates flag, boasting a skull and crossbones mounted over Olenna’s head.

“The decor is-“

“Surprisingly tasteful.” Olenna finishes, sipping on a white tea cup in her hands. “For a pirate’s den. Order a drink, sweet girl. I could have placed an order for you, had I known you were only right there.”

“I’m sorry for that.” Margaery apologizes sheepishly. “I awoke late this morning and when I got here, I was worried you had left for a different part airport, since you hadn’t called, and I didn't see you around the entrance here.”

The older woman scoffs dismissively. “I didn’t call you because I know I don’t need to hound you, the way I do that brother of yours. You can handle your own affairs. Like waking up on time. If only Loras had learned such self reliance.”

Margaery chuckles, shaking her head softly. “Oh, leave him alone, grandmother.” She doesn’t press it further, or explain why she was late, or where she woke up. Thankfully, the blue eyed old woman across from her doesn't ask, either; her disinterest was one of her finest qualities a lot of the time.

Olenna looks past her to a server, peering over the brim of her porcelain mug. His hair is coal black, and even from the distance to the counter, Margaery can see how strangely defined his arms are for a barista. It’s almost odd.

“He is a handsome one.” Her grandmother states. “Gendry... That’s what was on his name tag. A silly name, but a handsome man, nonetheless."

“And a taken one, it would seem.” Margery smirks, bemused, standing to go toward the counter and order.

Olenna turns, and watches Margaery fall in line behind a short girl, her cropped brown hair hiding her face. The server smiles too much at her for it to be a friendly exchange, considering how stone faced he was when taking Olenna's own order. The girl takes money out of her wallet, which he denies. Before she turns on her heels to leave, she places a kiss on his cheek, promises to call him later, and slips money into the tip jar.

When she turns to exit, she walks straight into Margaery. They’re both a bit more than thankful that it’s their wallets they lose on the ground, and not the shorter girls piping hot cup of coffee.

“Shit!” The shorter girl exclaims. “I didn’t even see you there. I’m so sorry!”

“No worries.” Margaery assures her, an easy and charming laugh rolling off her lips as she bends down picking up both wallets. “At least you didn’t spill your coffee there.” She smiles up under her eyes at the girl, who seems relieved that she bumped into the likes of the Tyrell; some people can be much less forgiving.

“Thank the Gods I didn't! I need every drop of this I can get. It’s game day.”

Margaery takes a second to look at the girl as she absently hands a wallet back to her. She’s in a red and gold field hockey uniform- the crown logo gives her away as an alumni at the university.

“Well, what do you know." Margaery smirks, a lilting intonation to her voice. "I attend King’s Landing U as well!” She smiles fondly, her warm eyes inviting the girl to engage in a quick conversation. “I’m a graduate student there now."

"It's nice, hey? I'm in on a sports scholarship. So I guess I can't speak to the quality of it's education just yet, but I love it's athletic department so far."

She's young looking in the face, but the more Margaery speaks with her, the more she can kind of see it. Her biceps are actually fairly large, and her figure is tiny but strong. They chat quickly about the University, Margery offering what little information she could about the athletic department that she had learned from Loras.

"Good luck to you, then. Enjoy your coffee, and your game. I hope you win. Go crowns!” She pumps her fist encouragingly.

“Hey, thanks!” The girl smirks fondly. "I hope I do, too. It’s the first game of the season. We've got a lot riding on it.” She adjusts a large hockey bag over her shoulder, and smiles back at the man working again, before she turns back to Margaery. "Anyways. I gotta get going. Have a good trip! Root for us.” The girl smiles.

It reminds Margery that her luggage is in tow, and she feels idly for the front much of her suitcase, dropping her wallet in as she reads the menu overhead.

_

Drinking before noon is generally frowned upon by the Tyrells. All of them. The exception, it seems, is when you’re stuck in an airport, staring at a screen full of delays for two hours. Finding out that you got up at 5:30 am to catch a flight only for it to be delayed until the evening, is taxing on your sanity.

In that case, falling into the comfortable booth of the nearest bar is the most viable option.

“A glass of Valerian Red.” Olenna decides easily.

“Dornish white, please.” Margaery smiles softly.

“Could I get some ID?” The server asks politely. She’s scrawny and young, likely not old enough to drink herself.

It’s silly, Margaery thinks, that she would ID her. She knows that she appears young, but not _that_ young. The girl probably could’ve caught her speech on TV if she paid attention twenty minutes earlier, and here she is IDing her.

“Sure.” Margaery smiles politely, all the same. Retrieving her wallet, she opens it up.

The girl takes it before Margaery even has a chance to realize or protest.

“This is… not you.” The woman points out awkwardly.

“What do you mean?” Margaery takes it back. It’s a girl with wide set dark eyes, and short brown hair. She looks much too young to even hold a driver’s license.

Olenna looks concerned, and swipes the card right out of her granddaughter’s hand.

“Arya Stark?” Olenna knits her eyebrows. “Friend of yours?”

“I- no, actually. No. I have absolutely no clue.” Margaery looks doe-eyed. She prays that this is all a misunderstanding, and that the staff don’t believe that she was trying to pull something.

She squints a little harder at the image, the waitress shifting foot to foot awkwardly.

“It’s the- The girl! At the coffee shop!” Margaery resolves, pointing feverishly at the picture on the ID. “She tipped Gendry, remember? We bumped, and the wallets fell and I- I picked up the wrong wallet. Her wallet is identical to mine.”

Olenna dismisses the waitress for a moment, so they can deal with the situation at hand. She sighs. “You’ve got to find her before we leave, Margaery. You can’t have some little scoundrel running around King’s Landing with your identity and your bank card.”

“Don’t call people that, grandmother.” Margaery scolds, a soft and stern look gracing her gentle features. “I’ve,” she roots through the wallet- “I’ve just got no idea how to find her contact information. Why would someone have their phone number or their address in their wallet?”

“Give it here, child.” Olenna holds out a hand, takes the rough looking brown wallet gently from Margery’s grip, and begins to root through it.

“Here.” She retrieves a piece of paper, throwing the wallet carelessly back onto the table. “There’s a number on this.”

“That could be _anyones_ number. Her boyfriend, her physiotherapist, her doctor, her priest. Why would it be in her wallet? We can’t ju-,”

Before the sentence is finished, Olenna has her phone up to her ear. Margaery sits by idly as her grandmother explains evenly to the person on the other end what has gone on.

“Oh, that would be excellent dear. Thank you very much. I’ll see you soon.”

Margaery shoots her a quizzical look. As Olenna hangs up, she explains that it was her roomate's number, and that Margaery should go to the inner city, and fast. They’re going to swap the wallets again before they get on their way to Highgarden.

Gathering the wallet, Margaery scrunches up the number and sticks it in her pocket, thinking the better of leaving this poor girls number lying around on the table in an airport.  
_

For as much dignity as she has, Margery feels rather stupid standing on the stoop of a total stranger’s house, raising a finger to press on the white doorbell, to ask for her wallet back. The door is tall, and pseudo-rustic, mahogany stained and wooden. It compliments the pretty masonry work of the structure, and the regal looking lamps mounted on the walls on either side of it. The house is like a modern twist on a gorgeous medieval castle.

She turns around to study the lush green lawn, shimmering in the saturation the rain was bringing. The step beneath her heeled boot is a gorgeous mosaic of stone of different gray and black shades. The white beams which support the covering above her are elegant and tasteful, and she almost doubts for a second if this is the right address for this 19 year old college girl.


	4. Intrigue

Sansa feels more than a bit annoyed at the fact that her younger sister has once again, almost caused an awful fuss due to her carelessness. Arya’s wallet contained her cash, her bank card, her license, Gods know what else. She paces the cool tiles of her kitchen, accepting the bizarre call that roused her from her sleep as she watches the day break through a haze of torrential rain outside the kitchen windows.

“Of course. Feel free to stop by my house and drop it off. Thank you so, so much for your honesty.”

She doesn’t really take the time to be charmed by the fact that Arya keeps her number in her wallet. She must be the only emergency contact number she has in there. She adds it to her list of things to be pissed off about with Arya.

She hangs up, making her way, disgruntled and irate, toward Arya’s bedroom door. She raises her hand to knock, when the door opens, revealing the shorter girl, sipping calmly on a coffee.

“Missing anything?” Sansa accuses, her gaze wordlessly vexed.

“Ah.” Arya gets out, taking another calm sip, looking into her sisters hard blue stare.

“Your wallet, Arya. Did you know some woman just called me saying she has your wallet?”

“Whaaat?” Arya half laughs, half scoffs, raising her eyebrows as she pushes past her sister. She clearly thinks it to be more entertaining than scary. Spinning around, her older sister pursues her up the hallway.

“Mom and dad would kill you if they knew this, you know. You’re lucky that this woman called me and not them.”

“Why do you think I keep _your_ number in there and not theirs?”

Her older sister can only sigh.

“How are you not concerned? How did this happen? It’s like 9:30 am and you’ve already almost lost your license, all your cash, your bank car-,”

“I borrowed your car.” Arya stops and faces her, cutting her off before she gets the chance to get even more worked up.

Sansa’s eyes narrow, and she's not feeling nearly as annoyed about her sister taking her car as Arya was probably expecting. “You borrowed my car…Ok. And?”

Arya eyes her for a second, wondering if she's toying with her. Normally, Sansa would likely be an infuriated mess about that kind of thing. She continues carefully.

“And... I went to get a coffee. Gendry was working. Had a little mix up... I bumped into someone, and I brought home the wrong wallet I guess. Not a big deal.” She puts her hands in the air in surrender.

“Gendry?” Sansa shakes her head, half asleep and totally confused. “You mean the hockey Gendry?”

Arya shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

It’s a bit too dismissive for Arya’s style of interaction, and her older sister eyes her suspiciously as she walks away from her. _Noted._

“So you have this woman’s wallet, too, then?”

“Guess so. It’s on the table.”

_

When the doorbell rings, the familiar tone floods the house. It's gotten to sound like an annoying ringtone that goes off too much.

Sansa sighs, sprawled out along the leather couch, calling out to her younger sister to answer it and face what she did.

She flicks through pictures of girls on Tinder, swiping left and right mindlessly, stopping to stare at some of the prettier ones, or the ones with unique faces. She never actually uses it to meet anyone, but she likes seeing who's out there. She can't help but notice the absence of footsteps heading toward the porch as she browses, and browses, and browses.

When she sings out once more after the annoying noise infiltrates her airwaves again, the only reply she gets is the muffled sound of the shower water beginning to run up the hallway. She gets a muted response about how the wallet was on the table, and she was getting a shower.

Rolling her eyes, she locks her phone. Sitting up, she curses Arya and her attitude that everyone else will fix her problems for her. She debates not even answering the door to get back at her, but then, that wouldn't be fair to the woman on the step.

 _Oh well. I'll just answer the door, grab the wallet, it'll be two seconds,_ she thinks. _Then, she owes me one._

She shuffles lazily through the foyer. Throwing the door open, she’s about to apologize to the kind elderly woman who saved their morning from going horribly wrong- only, _wow._

This woman isn’t old. _At all_. Time stops as she realizes as much, waking up a little bit at the sight. She swallows the lump in her throat.

She’s about Sansa’s age. Probably has just a couple of years on her. And _boy_ , is she something to look at.

Her hair is chestnut brown, gone wavy in the rain- only, it doesn’t look frizzy or misplaced by the adverse weather. In fact, she looks like she could’ve come straight out of a commercial for beach-wave hairstyling products. Her eyes are wide and expressive, feline and feral like those of a black panther stalking along a tree branch, watching Sansa- equally abound curiosity in them. Two orbs the colour of burnt umber that fix their gaze on her own, burning holes through her with their intensity.

Sansa's eyes drop. The girl sports a fierce red blazer, the white shirt beneath it contrasting beautifully where it dips dangerously low, making Sansa struggle to keep her eyes above the girl’s neck on first glance. Her leather gray heeled boots make her almost match Sansa’s own height, where she, herself, stands shoe-less in her doorway. She would be struck by how oddly formal the woman was dressed, if it weren’t for her black jeans.

The fact that she’s wearing jeans with this killer outfit has already made her effortlessly cool, and painfully attractive before she’s said a word.

Her lips are full, and they pull sideways into a smirk as she watches Sansa regard her curiously. She almost looks as though she's feeling smug about it.

“Hi there.” The girl says softly. Her voice is smooth, sweet, and low. “So, I _may,_ actually have the wrong house… I was looking fo-"

She shakes her head proudly, having noticed Arya’s wallet in the girl’s perfectly manicured hands. “No, not if you’re here for-“

“The wallet?” The girl smirks sideways again with a cute lilt in her tone, and it’s a bit entrancing to watch as she hold the wallet up in gesture.  
_

An absolute sheet of water falls in the backdrop of this lovely sight, though it takes Sansa a moment to realize as much.

"Where are my manners.” Sansa shakes her head leaning out to peer both ways at the weather. “Come in. Out of the rain. I’ll, I’ll grab your wallet for you.”

She all but runs toward the dining room once the stranger follows her in, squeezing her eyes shut and silently cursing herself for that interaction. She probably should've asked Arya who exactly owned the wallet, because this definitely wasn't a sweet old lady.

“Thank you.” Margaery smiles warmly, gratefully entering the threshold, relieved to be out of the wind and rain as she brings a hand up to shake the water off her chestnut coloured waves. “That’s quite the downpour out there, actually.”

The brunette watches this new girl head toward an archway leading into the next room as she speaks. She can’t help herself when she subconsciously licks her lips. She’s very tall. Her figure is thin and lean, but certainly not scrawny. Her hips are full and her leggings hug her in the best way possible as she saunters into the next room. Her legs go on for days. Her hair flows down her back until it stops almost in the small of her back, and it’s all crimson, sparkling and full as it bounces.

She isn’t sure at all why this girl is such a blatantly striking sight. It’s not unusual to check out a hot girl, but this girl- dare she say it- is _different.  
_

She wonders for a second if Arya's roommate is an athlete, too, recalling their chat about the sports programs earlier. She's got the build and the height. She bets that a girl like this might look good in a pair of baseball pants.

She also bets that having thoughts like that about girls she hardly knows is kind of awful, so she clears her throat and turns to watch the rain again.

_

Sansa searches frantically, realizing the wallet isn't on the table at all. She looks on the floor around it, pulls the chairs out from the table, even looks in the china cabinet, just in case. She wants to strangle her sister as she runs to the bathroom door, knocking hard and loud on it.

"The girl is here for her wallet. It isn't on the table." She grits out.

"Be out in a second." Arya replies.

Sansa tugs at her bottom lip impatiently, waiting by the door for a second, before she sheepishly makes her way back out the hallway.

_

The rain taps gently on the door beside Margaery, and the sound is calming. Paired with the sight of this fiery haired stranger walking back into her vision, coming toward her, it’s like a dream for a second.

There’s not a stain of makeup on her face, as her lips pull into a pretty, nervous smile. She’s in a baggy grey hoodie with the strings uneven in length. Her red hair looks wet on the ends where it curls, and her eyes look sleepy. She’s guessing she only woke up a little while ago. When she speaks, Margaery prays that’s where the painfully attractive gravel undertone of her voice comes from- the fact that she was just sleeping. Because if she always sounds like that? That would just be unfair.

She's just so _pretty._ She moves about like a ghost. Her skin is so pale, and her stare is hard and icy. Margaery can hardly recall the last time she saw a girl so alarmingly striking.

“I hope you weren’t out there too long.” The redhead offers sheepishly in her raspy tone, peeking out the door behind the other girl's head at the rain.

“Not long at all, actually.” Margaery waves a hand dismissively, easily taking herself out of her thoughts. They’re uncomfortable and intrusive, and entirely not the sort of thought Margaery has, ever. “I’m just thrilled to be getting my wallet back.” They lock eyes, and it’s a bit strange- the feeling in both their stomachs as they smile shyly.

"I had a small heart attack when I realized this wasn't mine."

“I bet." Sansa says, awkwardly, her hands toying with each other inside the pocket of her hoodie. Margaery regards her body language, and thinks it's cute how nervous she seems just standing in her own house chatting with her. "Wallets are important things to keep track of." There's silence for a beat, so Sansa rambles on again. "Not that you didn't keep track of yours well enough, or anything." Clearing her throat, she watches the brunette's lip tug into that sideways smirk again, she looks bemused.

"Anyways. Arya is in the shower.” Sansa gets out, clearing her throat and gesturing behind her nervously. "She’ll be out in a second. With your wallet."

 _"_ Okay." Margaery nods, smiling softly at her as her warm brown orbs hold the gaze of Sansa's wide blue ones- a little bit of reassurance behind them. Sansa weirdly feels as though this girl isn't holding her awkward rambling against her. As the brunette returns to her gaze out the door at the hard driving rain, Sansa can only stare. She wonders if she should invite her in, or stay there with her, or go in the living room herself. Then, she wonders why she's wondering so hard about it.

"Do you mind all this rain? Or are you a rain person?" The girl asks suddenly, looking over her shoulder at Sansa. "We're supposed to get a lot of it today."

Sansa leans against the wall, her head resting on it. She's thankful that this girl is trying to spark conversation. She focuses her gaze past the brown waves of her hair and out at the water pouring down.

"I don't mind rain at all. It helps me sleep." She smiles lazily. "It sounds nice when it's hard like that. I was kind of happy when I woke up to rain."

"I agree! It's like a white noise machine." Margaery chuckles. "I love the rain. Even if it throws off my plans."

"Me too." Sansa nods as they lock eyes again.

There's something sleepy and relaxed about the conversation. It gives the illusion that they aren't actual strangers.

"I hope you weren't sleeping when we called you." Margaery turns once more, her eyebrows knit in concern as the thought crosses her mind.

Sansa shakes her head fondly, a small fib.

"Good then." Margaery smiles.

She watches this new girl watch the rain, and thinks again about whether or not to invite her in. To sit on the leather couch by the window, and watch it together, or offer her a drink, or do _something_ more hospitable than this.

"Do you want to come in and sit down, while you wait?" The words leave her mouth before she even makes up her mind to say them.

Margaery wonders about that question for a second as she regards the redhead. She's innocent looking enough, and certainly as shy as she is gorgeous. Normally, she would decline. This girl probably doesn't make the offer to everyone, though, and if she trusts Margaery, then Margaery trusts her.

She almost feels like an old friend. A very mysterious and cute, old friend. Plus, she does have to wait for the other girl to get dressed, right? She nods slowly, then a little faster as she leans down to unzip her boots.

_

Their conversations flow smoothly from one topic to the next, and Sansa is more than happy to let the brunette lead them. She's much less likely to fumble her speech that way, now that shes so conscious of the way she's speaking due to the other woman's easy grace. They've arrived at the topic of a shared Philosophy prof at the University, which drifted naturally into talk of philosophy in general. Their sly gazes indicate how impressed each one is at the other's insight into life and their coursework.

  
To her credit, Arya gets out and gets dressed in record time. Almost too fast for Sansa's liking, who was more than content sitting on the opposite side of the couch from their guest, nursing her cup of tea, having a dozen tiny conversations about nothing.

"Sorry! I was in the shower." Arya yells, scurrying up the hall and totally ruining the moment of connection, in true Arya fashion. "Awful host, hey? Making you wait in a stranger's house." She shakes her head at herself. Sansa wants to shake her head at her, too, but she doesn't.

“Nonsense.” Margaery soothes genuinely, and her tone is _so_ soft. Sansa indulges in the tiny feeling of disappointment she believes she can feel from the other girl at how their conversation has been cut short.

The brunette turns around to look at the shorter girl, and her gaze is both intense and calming, her easy smirk pulling her mouth up at the edges. “My flight was delayed, anyhow, sweet girl. And your friend here provided me with top notch company.”

She throws Sansa a sly smirk, her feline eyes boring into hers for just a second too long. It's enough to make her temperature rise, though she's positive it's entirely innocent and friendly. It's probably the way she smiles at everyone; she doesn't know her, after all.

So, she smiles awkwardly back, regarding her curiously. She wonders why she smirks instead of smiling, or if she even does that to everyone. Where she's from. Where she was going on her flight. How she can make Sansa feel so odd with one smirk. They had talked, but hadn't asked each other any of the things they wanted to.

“Not delayed for too long, I hope?” Arya asks, eyebrows knitting in concern. She kneels, rooting through a backpack she had brought up the hallway with her. She stops now and then, pushing her shaggy wet hair back form her face as she searches. Margaery wants to smirk at how boyish the gesture is- it's charming and genuine.

“No, no. Just until this evening. Maybe tomorrow. My grandmother is at the airport and waiting for an update now.” Margaery tells her, watching her movements. “...I’m a bit glad, actually.” She adds cooly, so as not to seem like she’s _trying_ to make her feel better. "That it got delayed. I would hate to have landed in Highgarden and _then_ discovered this wallet mishap. It was my own fault, after all, that they got mixed up.”

Sansa is interested to see that this gorgeous creature apparently also has a heart of gold. She’s sitting in a stranger’s house, hair soaked from the rain, fibbing and telling her that she’s _happy_ her fight is delayed, taking responsibility for a mishap that brought her so far from her intended path today.

 _Of course she's from Highgarden,_ Sansa muses in her head. Stories of the affable and charming nature of Highgarden folk, mustn't be all that far-fetched.

Pleasant and kind people weren't so easy to find in King's Landing as they had been back in the North. There’s a shy and effortless liking between Sansa and she, as Margaery smiles at her again when their eyes meet over Arya.

“Your game. What time is it again?" She asks, her gaze returning to the other brunette.

"One." Arya tells her, finally fishing out the wallet and standing happily, passing it to Margaery.

She accepts it gratefully, and opens it up. She holds her ID up next to her own face.

"What do you think? Does this one look more like me?"

Sansa chuckles behind her younger sister, who tells her it definitely does. The deep brown eyes of the unfamiliar girl lock onto her own blue ones, practically sparkling, as she throws in a joke. It's about how she hopes Arya hasn't participated in any acts of identity theft in the past couple of hours, and she's sure the brunette is the only person that could make a joke like that funny, and not heavy and uncomfortable given the circumstance.

“And your game is at one, then...Perhaps I’ll see you there.” The new girl suggests, her lips pulling into a sweet smile. Sansa could swear she's looking more at her than at Arya when she says this.

_Wishful thinking._

"I've got nothing to do until my flight gets out. So, why not cheer you on." She continues as she stands and makes her way back to the foyer.

"Awesome! She's going, too." Arya points behind herself with a thumb toward her older sister, who is certain she's red in the face. "I'll have my own fan club."

"That you will." Margaery smiles softly, reaching for the doorknob. "Well, thank you for the wallet." She holds it up in gesture, smiling back and forth between the two girls. "Maybe I'll see you at the stadium. If not, then good luck, I'll be cheering for the Crowns no matter where I am!"

"Thanks so much." Arya smiles. "Now, don't lose that." She points at the girls wallet, and she laughs heartily.

“I'll try not to. Have a good day, Arya. And you as well, um…” Margaery is at a loss for the redhead’s name, and with good reason. She hasn’t said it.

“Sansa.” She smiles sweetly, realizing that it’s a question for her.

“Sansa.” Margaery repeats, thinking about what a pretty and eloquent name it is.“Have a good day then, Arya, and you as well, Sansa.”

“You too, ah,"

“Margaery.” Margaery fills in daintily, locking eyes with her yet again, as she says a quick, quiet and enthusiastic "thank you" and a "bye" and closes the door behind her.  
_

It’s all Sansa can do to keep her heart from beating out of her chest when the door closes behind the girl. She watches her jog lightly to her SUV and throw open the drivers door.

“You didn’t tell me that a girl like, my age was coming.”

Arya just shoots her an inquisitive look.

“Well, yeah. She’s the person I bumped into.” Arya laughs, eyebrows knit in confusion, as if Sansa is going crazy.

“On the phone, I was speaking with an old woman. Like, _old_ old.”

“She was with an old woman at the cafe.” Arya shrugs, not thinking much of it. She makes it halfway out of the room. "What’s the big deal anyway? Why does it matter who picked up the stupid wallet?” She asks, stopping in the door frame to come back and investigate further, as if a thought crossed her mind. She has that, _look_ , that she gets when wheels are turning in her head.

Sometimes, Sansa loves it; sometimes, like now, she _hates_ it.

“Not a big deal. Just an observation.” Sansa shrugs, closing her eyes to yawn, and pretend she isn’t wired and wide awake now.

“An odd one.” Arya torments, catching on to the problem here as she turns to leave.  
_

The library is cold today; dim, and largely unoccupied. The air that’s usually filled with aroma of caffeine, or just whispers and sheer anxiety, is now stale with the smell of old books, undisturbed all summer. It makes for excellent studying time, Margaery thinks, if there were anything at all to study. She was only really here because her grandmother rang her to explain that the flight was delayed until tomorrow evening, and she was near the library when she received the call. She decided to stop in. Why not exercise her perks as a grad student?

She runs her finger along the tall, off-coloured metal shelves as she watches the rain beat against the large windows, and is surprised that they haven't collected too much dust. She had become intimately familiar with these old shelves during her time here, and the many dusty corners which contained some of the best books. Her own hidden gems.

The school term didn’t start for another few days, but she already had three books under her arm which she wanted to check out for her trip to Highgarden. She doubted that once her coursework picked up, she would have much time to read for entertainment purposes.

Sitting down to read one at a long and quiet, dark brown table, Margaery almost gets into it, _almost._

Except, it was about Theosophy. It was about souls, split in two due to karma they incurred on earth. It was about them finding one another again, and merging, and uniting as one before the Gods.

Like some strange daydream, something about her exchange this morning kept crossing her mind, making her totally uninterested in the text. Margaery had never been in love. Not since she was sixteen, and that wasn't really love at all. She'd like to read this book through a non-speculative lens, but she can't clear her mind enough to really think about the words.

She was never one to let her mind wander. It was _annoying_ to picture this girl over and over, her nervous smile, her uneven sweater strings, her piercing blue orbs, her hair flowing red and wild and even around her shoulders. The way she said her name. _Sansa._ She could practically still hear the tap of the rain against the window when she thought of that name. _  
_

Annoying to think about, but not entirely unpleasant. She wants to chalk down her fascination with Sansa to the fact that their conversation was all about philosophy- _you'd find anyone intriguing if your first meeting involved discussion about life itself, right?_

It was something else though. She wondered for a second if Sansa had ever been in love, if she had met her soulmate. She bets that plenty of people had been in love with  _her._ Then she wonders if Arya had grown up with her, if they met in college, if they were friends, acquaintances, maybe even lovers.

Intrusive thoughts about pretty girls just weren’t Margery’s style. She had known many, cared about few, and let none distract her. She could always block them when she wanted to focus on her school work, or her job, or a good book, so why not now? Why not with a girl she barely knows at all?

In true Margaery fashion, it was intrigue that makes her slam the book closed. Intrigue, and annoyance that she can't be productive that makes her get up and walk toward her SUV.

 _I’m going to pop in and see the score. Say hello to Sansa, make peace with the fact that she's just a normal girl, and be on my way, then I'll read this properly._  
___

She has, of course, been in the gym before. Not that she particularly cared for sports herself, but Loras had played several games here. She prides herself on being an excellent support system for him, since their father wasn’t ever in the capital, and Olenna could care less about him “chasing a ball with a stick for a living.”

She's learned a thing or two about a lot of sports from kicking around here on Loras' behalf. Not to mention, she’s semi-familiar with the gymnasium's layout, so she finds a parking spot pretty easily, and finds a certain redhead even easier. It turns out, not just any girl in the Capital has hair so fiery red.

They lock eyes as soon as Margery walks through the double doors to the gymnasium.

Sansa tries to act as if she wasn’t staring at the door the whole time, waiting to see her come in. She's washed with surprise weirdly, having thought the brunette only mentioned the game to be cordial. Her palms feel sweaty at her impending approach.

She looks away as the girl heads right toward her corner of the bleachers. She sits up a little straighter, primping herself as best she can. She's thankful that Jeyne won't make it until 1:40, because a girl like Margaery likely never would've headed toward Sansa, had her rowdy friend been beside her.

“Best seats in the house?” The low and soft voice jokes as it reaches her side, her coy smile making Sansa wrought with nerves as their eyes lock. She slides onto the bleacher beside her, far enough away that they aren’t touching, but close enough that she can smell her soft and floral perfume. A frustrating distance, really, but an appropriate one for two virtual strangers, Sansa reminds herself.

It was just as Sansa feared- she’s even more beautiful up close. Her chestnut hair flows perfectly down her back. Her coat is brown, too, but a much lighter shade. It reaches halfway down her calf which her army-green jeans cover, and she’s wearing heeled boots again. She sticks out compared to the majority of people in their sleeveless jerseys and tacky face paint. It's the kind of beautiful that demands attention. Sansa feels as if half the gym is probably staring at this girl right now. And _she_ gets to sit by her.

“I like to sit up close.” She shrugs, trying to act as unaffected as she can with a gorgeous girl inches from her on the right.

“So, you like to be where the action is, then?” The girl smirks, her eyes studying Sansa’s with an unwavering attention that made her shift in her seat.

“I guess you could say that.” Sansa laughs, looking intently at the court in front of her, so she has something to stare at besides this girl. They stare at the court in silence for a while, both feeling a little uneasy. Through the initial nerves, a feeling of peace prevails as they look on.

True to form, Sansa is exceptionally bad at making conversation with girls, even when she likes them as people- _especially,_ when she likes them as people. Particularly ones that look like _this_. So, when she sees a pile of books, she feels obligated to comment, and not be a weirdo about it, as a part of her plan to get out of her shell this year.

“So, what are you reading?” Sansa asks politely, as Margaery lays her stack of books on her right side, away from Sansa.

"Hm?" Margaery turns to her, eyebrows raised, biting at her lip expectantly.

"Your, um your books." She points.

“Oh! Um- The Songs and Histories of Westeros- Volumes One and Two. And the small one, that’s the Histories of the North.”

Sansa’s eyes light up. “I love the Histories of the North! I’ve read it about three times. No joke. The chapters on Northern Mythology are the most interesting, if you’re into that kind of thing." She shares. "The stories are so elaborate. My favourite is the chapter based on the First Men and their belief in White Walkers and their origins."

Margaery cocks her head in interest to watch the girl beside her. She didn't take her as much of a talker. She expected they would sit shoulder to shoulder in silence for the entire game, really. She imagined it would likely be so awkward that she would have to run out of here early. In fact, she _hoped_ for that.

She _hoped_ that Sansa would be a disinterested, quiet, dull personality, because then she could stop thinking about her stupidly pretty face as if she actually knew her. She could read her book in peace and not be plagued by wonder and thought about some girl she spoke to once.

“Very sound advice. Are you an avid reader then, Sansa?” She continues the conversation, nonetheless, too far in to back out now that she had shown up here and sat with the girl.

Sansa shrugs, her cheeks turning red. “I mostly read prose or poetry... that kind of thing. Only the occasional history book, or chapter book, and even then, it’s usually for coursework...or it's based in mythology.”

“Well, mythology is very interesting. And poetry is very beautiful.” She nods, matter-of-factly. She's more than a little impressed that prose is Sansa's read of choice, it shows a manner of sophistication that a lot of people in the city lack.

Sansa nods, too, chancing a look at her. For once since they met this morning, she isn’t staring back at her with a gaze intense enough to knock the air out of her lungs. In fact, she isn’t gazing at Sansa at all. She’s watching the ball hockey girls filing onto the floor.

“My flight got delayed until tomorrow.” Margaery shares, eyes fixed on the girls who are warming up lightly.

The redhead turns to look sideways at her. “I’m sorry to hear.” She frowns genuinely. She hates that she feels a well-hidden tinge of happiness at the fact.

“I’m not.” Margaery shrugs. “I’ve got an apartment here in the city. I have this game to watch, and three new books under my arm. I met a couple of new people today. It could’ve turned out worse, don’t you think?”

Sansa watches the girls, too. Much to her chagrin, she finds Arya, passing the ball back and forth with- yup. Yara Greyjoy.

Margaery watches Sansa, watching the girl across from her sister. The gaze is, interesting.

She looks away again non-chalantly. She doesn’t know these people, really, but she’s certainly starting to feel intrigued.

"I think you're right." The red head smiles nervously, working up the courage to be the one to make eye contact first.

 

 

 


	5. I'm Winning

Sansa hates to say that she _expects_ Arya’s team to always win, _but_ \- she expects Arya’s team to always win.

It’s no surprise at all the her when the game wraps up with a score that the opponent should almost find embarrassing.

Against Margaery’s initial intentions, she stays for the entire duration of the game. It’s only when she finds herself standing from the bleachers to clap and cheer loudly, a beaming redhead by her side, filled with pride, that she remembers the game is now over.

Arya beams up at Sansa from the floor as her teammates huddle around her, patting each other on the heads and backs aggressively. Sansa gives her a big thumbs up, beaming down at her.

“You’re an excellent friend.” Margaery points out loudly over the applause. ”She’s absolutely beaming up at you.”

“She’s my sister!” Sansa explains, half laughing. “But thank you all the same!"

“What!” Shock fills the brunettes features. Side by side, you would never imagine this tall, thin redhead and the short muscly brunette were related by blood at all, much less that they were _sisters._

Sansa laughs earnestly. “We get that a lot, actually. I Imagine it’s the hair colours.”

“Amongst other things.” Margaery shrugs. Sansa chances a sideways look at her, her signature smirk is dancing on her lips. She wonders what other things Margaery could mean.

It's all she can think about as they look on, watching the two teams shake hands. Arya holds up her phone afterward, pointing to it to signal to Sansa to check her texts.

Margaery gently grabs Sansa’s arm to get her attention. Sansa’s eyes snap to hers like an animal about to be eaten by prey, only to follow her pointing finger to her sister, waving her phone in the air and pointing at it. Her heartbeat slows down a little once she understands.

_**Arya: Celebratory dinner at Foggys. Take Margaery along too** _

_**Jeyne: Can’t make the game!! :( Take lots of pics! Will explain tomorrow** _

“Tell her I said congratulations if you’re texting with her! I’m so happy she got a victory in her first big game.” Margaery offers, and it's so genuine that Sansa is almost impressed by how good this girl is at interacting with other people- even one's she's just met.

She studies her phone, though, wondering about Jeyne, but mostly debating whether or not to invite Margaery. _She would only decline- right_? She hardly knows Sansa. Besides, would a girl like her even want to go to a dingy pub like Foggy’s? Definitely not likely.

Margaery looks at her as though she’s awaiting a response. She looks like she’s clearly wondering what the girl could’ve said in the text that stumped Sansa so much for an answer.

“Do you um, have anywhere to be right now?” Sansa asks, feeling Margaery's expectant gaze on her.

Margaery studies her face curiously.

“No…not really.” She offers, confused.

“Have you ever heard of Foggy’s?” Sansa smirks sheepishly.

A genuine smile begins to form on Margery’s pretty pink lips as her eyes meet Sansa’s.  
_

“CROWNS!” They all cheer as their glasses smash together over the rustic, dark-stained wooden tables. Beer suds come sliding down the frosted glass, sloshing onto the table and the arms of the girls, who don’t seem to mind as they drink up happily.

Sansa watches Margaery laugh genuinely and cheer once more with a particularly tall and strong looking girl who pats her roughly on the back. She worried at the fact that Margery would be way out of her element in coming here, but in fact, she seems to be meshing more easily than Sansa herself, who knows half these people.

Sansa is watching her when she feels an arm slide around her from her left side, which was empty just a moment ago. It’s Yara, who slides a glass of white wine before her smoothly, with a smirk. “I know you don’t like beer.” She offers over the noise of her teammates, shrugging.

“Thanks.” Sansa smiles softly. She doesn’t really say much to Yara when Arya is around.

“So, did you enjoy the game?” Yara prods, trying to get a conversation flowing.

“I did.” Sansa nods politely, in between sips of her wine. “That was a good goal you had coming into the second period.”

Looking a little smug, Yara sits back a little further on the bench, facing the redhead a little. “Thank you. Their defensive line was tough, but I managed to break through and had to make the most of it. Threw a little wink toward you in the stands after that one.”

Sansa can feel herself about to blush, and she looks up in time to catch Margery’s curious gaze across the table. They hold it for a second until Arya cuts dramatically between her sister and her teammate, throwing an arm around each.

“What do you say I buy us another round?” Arya offers.

“I have to drive.” Sansa explains. “I’ll just sip on this glass, thanks.”

“Lame. Margaery?” Arya offers, thumping the table in front of Margery to grab her attention.

“Oh, no thanks, Arya. Should get going soon actually. I have my flight tomorrow. I’m very glad I got to hang out with you fine folks and celebrate your victory, though!”

“It was our pleasure. You’ve got to hang out with us more! Maybe go out for drinks when you get back from your trip!”

“I would like that very much!” Margery smiles enthusiastically. Arya doesn’t have time to express satisfaction with the answer when another of her teammates picks her up- one of the downsides of being the smallest on the team- and carries her toward the bar.

“You’re heading off soon?” Sansa asks across the table.

Margaery nods through her chuckling, explaining that she wants to get a few things done this evening.

“I’ll walk you out, then. I’m leaving soon, too.”

Margaery smiles gratefully, offering a nod. She’s secretly quite happy that the redhead made that offer, though she wasn’t expecting it. She weirdly wanted to spend that last bit of one-on-one time with her.

As if she could sense it, Yara turns back around on the bench toward Sansa. “Are you leaving already? Come on.”

“Yeah, I’ve got some things I have to do.”

“Do them in an hour or two. You’ll be fine!” Yara pressures, a devious smile on her lips.

“No, I’ve got to get going. I'll ah, see you around.” Sansa smiles evenly, throwing her purse over her shoulder and standing from the uncomfortable bench, that seemingly no one else finds uncomfortable.

“Alright then.” Yara shrugs, looking a shade disappointed. “Bye, then. See you soon!”

Margaery takes a chance and regards her, catching her eye by accident.

“See you.” She says to Yara politely, offering her a sweet smile, though she hasn’t met her yet. Yara returns it, looking her up and down as if she just saw the Tyrell for the first time that night. As Sansa and Margery head out the door, Yara nudges the girl beside her.

“Hey, who is that one?”

“Don’t know. She’s fine though.” The girl snickers.

“Yeah... she is. Never seen her before, that’s all." She watches as the redhead grabs the door for her. "She smiled at me, though.” She grins cockily.  
_

Stepping into the evening, Sansa feels her lungs and her ears encounter clean air for the first time in hours. The world is bursting with colour from the impending sunset, and a few clouds dot the lazy pink sky.

She breathes in dramatically.

Margaery chuckles beside her, bathed in a new glow as the streetlights flicker on over her head. “Enjoying the fresh air?”

Sansa opens her eyes to a new sight. This Margaery- standing alone against the evening, hands in the pocket of her long coat, a brilliant pink backdrop, the soft fluorescent glow of the _Foggy's_ sign on her skin, looks impossibly real. She's felt too ethereal, too perfect and unattainable, like a doll to a window shopper up until now. Here, on the sidewalk outside a dingy pub, she looks like a living, breathing human. Like someone that Sansa could _know_.

"Because I know I am. I loved it in there, though!"

Sansa regards her pearly white smile, the joy in her eyes. She's beyond thrilled that she made this girl's day turn out alright, after the shitty start to the morning. She wonders for a silly second if Margaery has ever been to a pub.

“Well, I’m glad you had fun then. I know they can be a lot when they’re all in one place like that. And Foggy’s is a bit small, it can be a tight space with a lot of noise.”

“Are you kidding? I loved it!” Margaery offers, quirking an eyebrow, a smirk on her pretty lips. “It’s got character.”

“Well, good!” Sansa smiles, awkward all over again now that she’s alone with the brunette. “I'm glad they didn’t uh, scare you off, or anything.”

“Scare me off?" Margaery looks amused at the comment, as she cocks an eyebrow, chuckling once. "No.. not at all. They’re all very sweet, actually. I really liked the big one.” Margaery gestures with her hands to indicate how tall and broad the woman in question was, before placing her hands back into her pockets.

“Hm, Brienne?” Sansa muses, recognizing her form hand gesture alone.

“That’s the one!" She cackles, pointing a finger in recognition. "A sweetie, through and through. She’s adopting a puppy this week, you know! A rescue. She’s down between two and can’t decide which.”

Sansa nods seriously as they walk toward the parking lot. “Well, what were the options?”

“A boxer, and a husky mix, I believe.” Margaery informs her in a cute lilting tone, but rather matter-of-factly.

“Hmm, might be a tough decision. Which would you pick?”

“I advised her to do what any sane person would do. Both.”

Sansa looks at her, noticing that she’s totally serious. Sansa’s nerves break into a hearty laugh all at once. Margaery looks surprised when she follows suit and begins to laugh, too.

“What! You should see their little faces. You wouldn’t choose just one either!”

“Maybe not. Though I do love huskies. My dog is part wolf, she looks like an overgrown fluffball of a husky.”

“You have a dog?” Margaery looks genuinely delighted.

“Lady. She’s basically my fluffy, four-legged daughter.”

The sentiment makes Margaery chuckle, as she looks sideways at the redhead. She wondered why the girl was always so nervous, for someone whose humour and wit was so abundant. She was utterly charmed by her.

Arriving at Margery’s SUV, she could almost swear she felt something that she hasn’t felt in 100 speeches, exams, meetings, forums; She could almost swear she was- _nervous_?

The word generally was not in the woman’s vocabulary.

Sansa on the other hand, knew the feeling so well that it wasn’t the slightest bit shocking to her when she felt that way. She ignored it as she spoke.

“It’s been a long, wacky day for you hasn’t it? I bet you can't wait to hit the hay.”

“Wacky, wild, weird, you name it!” Margaery chuckles charmingly, reaching for her door handle. “I’m very glad that it unfolded the way it did. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too.” A smile breaks across Sansa’s face as she says the words, looking at the ground like a school girl with a bad crush.

Margaery studies her, a rush of adrenaline fueling her next words.

“If it’s not too forward, I’d like to give you my number.” She offers, her usual confidence entering her body seamlessly once more. “To chat, or hang out some more. It’s hard to make friends in the city, or more so- hard to find people you actually share enough common interests with to pursue friendship.”

Sansa could practically blow up. She’s bursting at the seams with happiness about this simple statement, but resolves herself to a simple “I’d like that."

Fumbling through her purse, her hand lands on her phone. Navigating too her contact list, she hits “Add New”, and passes it to Margaery almost too quickly. She wonders if it seemed weird, but the moment feels dreamlike, so she hands her the phone before she changes her mind.

The brunette doesn’t seem to notice, as her elegant fingers tap her number into Sansa’s phone, passing it back with her signature pretty smile.

“Text me anytime, Sansa. I’ll see you around.” Her smile is soft and sincere.

“I will." Sansa holds up her phone a little n gesture. "Have a safe flight, and an awesome trip!"

“I’m sure I will.” Margaery grins, stepping up into the vehicle, and closing the door. She waves goodbye to Sansa as she pulls out of the parking space.

As soon as she’s out of sight, Sansa lets out the breath she’s been holding all day.

  
“Yes!” She whispers to herself.


	6. Advil and Water

Sansa stares determinedly at the task lying in the middle of her bedroom floor. Unzipping the large burgundy suitcase, she begins the grueling task of unpacking her final bag. As if the universe could sense that she was about to get something done, her ringtone sounds from her bed.

Sighing, she lets the top part of the suitcase fall shut, stands lazily, and grabs the phone off her bed. She expects it’s a very drunk Arya, looking for a ride home.

She bites her lip in intrigue when she sees that it’s none other than Jeyne. The same Jeyne who had been so adamant about them not missing Arya’s game. The same Jeyne who then skipped said-game, with no warning, and as of yet, no explanation. _This should be interesting,_ Sansa thinks, as she slides her thumb to answer.

“Hello?”

“Sans? Are you busy?”

“Well, actually, I’m about to start unpack-,”

“Great. I’m on the way over, okay? Be there in ten. Have you eaten?”

“I- no, I haven’t, but I’ve really got to-,”

“Awesome, I’ll pick up Chinese. So be there in like twenty, actually. See you soon. Love you!”

“Okay… bye then. Love you t-”

When the line goes dead, Sansa can only sigh. She falls back onto her bed, arms spread wide in defeat.

"Well, I have twenty minutes. Might as well get the unpacking _started_." She says lowly to herself.  
_

“One combination eight, no sweet and sour sauce.” Jeyne announces proudly, passing the Styrofoam takeout container across the table to Sansa. She opens her own just after, and begins digging in as though she hasn’t eaten in a week.

“Hungry?” Sansa snorts.

“Very.” Jeyne comments through a mouthful of noodles. “So, about the game.” She stops to take a swig of water, and Sansa thinks that's probably a very good thing, since she’s likely to choke if she doesn’t. “Guess why I didn’t make it?”

Jeyne’s wide eyes probe into Sansa’s as though she expects her best friend to really know the answer to that question.

“Um…”

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you. So, you know how I told you that Charlotte, next cubicle over, is off on maternity now?”

Sansa nods, toying with the chopsticks and the food before her, but watching her best friend intently.

“Well, they’ve hired her replacement,” Jeyne bites her lip eagerly, her eyes wide. Sansa is a little puzzled, and makes no effort to hide the fact.

Fifteen minutes later, she's filled to the brim with knowledge about some apparently gorgeous, six foot tall blond haired, blue eyed dream boat of a man. Not to mention, the supper date he and Jeyne went on after work.

Sansa’s eyebrows raise, and her mouth drops in shock when her best friend is finally done talking. _Say something, Sansa._

“Oh my gosh, Jeyne! I feel like I should have more to say, but that just.. that was the last thing I was expecting you to say."

Sansa was never quite sure why, but joining in on this kind of conversation was always... odd. Of course she was happy for her friends, and maybe it was just her own lack of experience in relationships affecting her; but she just didn't have much to contribute. She was never sure what kind of follow-up questions to ask, never sure if she should probe more or less, she was just never sure if she even _cared_ to know more about these guys. She wondered often if it came off as selfish, or uninterested, or weird.

"I mean, obviously I'm so happy for you." She adds, with as much encouragement as she can muster. "Like, I was worried that the reason you didn't make it might have been bad, or something. But this- this is so good for you. Really!"

"I know right? Maybe this is the year I finally find love." Jeyne sighs, her eyes searching her best friend's face side to side. "Now... all that's left to do is find _you_ a man!"

Sansa laughs uncomfortably at the suggestion, focusing her eyes intently on the noodles before her, now a little cold and unappetizing. Her best friend doesn't seem to notice, or care. Just as she is about to elaborate once more about this new man, Sansa’s phone rings loudly.

“I’m sorry- It’s Arya.” She announces, a soft frown gracing her features. “Drunk at Foggy’s. Bet she wants a ride.”

Holding up one finger in a ‘hold on’ gesture, and sliding the answer button, Arya confirms this suspicion. Agreeing, the redhead offers her a quick goodbye, and stands to get her coat.

“Well, I’ve got to get her. She’s absolutely smashed.” Sansa sighs.

“Nonsense! Sit and eat woman!” Jeyne gets out, through her final mouthful of noodles as she stands. "I’m pretty much done- I was starving." She grins sheepishly. "Plus, I missed her game. Which I feel like shit about. So, I’ll swing by and grab her. I’ve really got to run anyways. I haven’t reviewed a single page of the 40 page document I’m meant to edit by Thursday.” The dark haired beauty frowns as she stands, and Sansa is yet again impressed by how mature she’s gotten, seemingly overnight.

“Are you sure?” Sansa offers again.

“Very much so. I’ll pick her up and swing her and her teammates home.” Jeyne slips on her coat, throws her purse over one shoulder, and stops to kiss Sansa on the head. “Bye! I’ll elaborate on the hot blond story tomorrow.” She turns, pointing a finger at Sansa in promise as she walks backward to the door.

“Looking forward to it!” Sansa smiles, as she walks her out, a little unsure of how much more Jeyne could possibly tell her about this guy. "And thank you. For getting her. I super appreciate this."

Her friend waves her hand dismissively and winks as the front door closes behind her.  
_

Jumping a mile across her bedroom floor, Sansa can’t help the profanity that escapes her when the door swings open, and sends the shirt in her hands flying through the air.

“Jesus Christ!” She screams, with her hand over her heart.

“What!” Arya looks equally terrified as she chows down on a blueberry muffin. “You knew I was coming home.”

“I didn’t hear you come up the hallway.” Sansa defends, half annoyed at her sister throwing open the door like that. “In fact, I didn't even hear the front door- what are you eating?”

“Jeyne got me a blueberry muffin on the way home.” She shrugs, through a mouthful. “Listen- do you have any Advil?”

“Oh? Medicine cabinet.” Sansa tells her, kneeling down to finish folding the last two shirts in the suitcase.

“Already checked.”

“Well, no. I guess I don't, then.”

“What am I gonna do about my hangover tomorrow then?” She looks entirely too distressed, and Sansa is worried she might start drunk crying. Sighing, she looks at her ceiling in exasperation.

“Why don’t you try _not_ getting smashed every time your team wins a game? You’ll spend your entire first semester drunk at this rate.”

“Thanks.” Arya smiles goofily, muffin crumbs surrounding her lips.

The redhead can only shake her head, considering she certainly didn’t mean it as a compliment.

“How about this. I'll run to the corner store, you fold these last two shirts for me.” Sansa proposes.

“You’re the best! I will fold them so neatly that you'll... you'll feel bad ever unfolding them again.” Her drunken sister promises with conviction, dropping to her knees beside the suitcase.  
_

Shutting the door behind her, Sansa kicks her shoes off, and pads lightly up the stairs. The paper bag in her hand crumples against her coat, which she hasn't bothered to take off yet, as she hops lightly to the top of the staircase. She pauses at the top, noticing that there's sufficiently less noise in the house than their usually is when one of her drunk siblings is running about. Shrugging, she heads toward her bedroom, only to find it empty- with two folded shirts laying on her bed. She hums in approval, before heading up the hallway to the next bedroom.

“Arya?” Sansa whispers, knocking gently on her door. No light seeps out from beneath it. She’s somehow entirely unsurprised that in the fifteen minutes she was gone, her sister got in bed and fell totally asleep. She slides it open softly. “Arya. Are you up?”

“Hm?” Arya hums out, turning over in her bed. She reaches for the lamp with her eyes still closed, finding the switch and flicking it on so that her sister can see where she’s walking.

“Thanks. Sit up.” Sansa orders, nearing the bed with a glass of water. Arya does as told, and sits up half-heartedly. She accepts the glass, scooting in so that Sansa can sit on the side of her bed.

The window is open, and the airy white curtains dance about in the wind. The autumn breeze is cool, but Sansa doesn't comment, knowing that her sister always sleeps in what she herself would consider an ice-box of a room.

“Here.” She places two Advil on the nightstand as she sits. She stares at the open window for a second, some soft light from outside infiltrating the dark space.

“You’re the best sister ever.” Arya gushes, after taking a long drink from the glass.

“You know me.” Sansa flips her hair jokingly, before leaning back more comfortably. “So, how was Foggy’s?” She asks, brushing her sister’s hair gently back off her face, so she doesn’t get it in her water.

“Amazinnnng.” Arya smiles lazily. “You should have stayed!”

“I couldn’t. I had some unpacking to do.”

“You could’ve done that tomorrow. You never wanna hang out.”

Sansa frowns a little at the accusation, shifting her position on the bed a little. “Of course I do, Arya. I just,”

She lets the sentence die, shrugging, unsure of where she was even going with it.

“You just what?” Arya prods, laying down her water, nearly missing the nightstand.

“Careful- I just, don’t want to get drunk in the middle of the day all the time like you guys do. That’s all.”

“That’s not true. We drink in the nights all the time. You never wanna come.”

“Well, I go to all your games. I like all your teammates and get along with them fine there. I just don’t like drinking… It’s not a huge deal. Why don't you get some sleep, okay?” Sansa stands, sensing that this is turning down a road she doesn’t want it to.

“You do like drinking. You and Jeyne used to drink all the time.” Arya accuses. "You just don’t wanna drink with Yara.” She says harshly, turning over to face the wall.

 _There it is_. Sansa feels her ears burning red hot. “That’s ridiculous, Arya. You’re drunk.” She scoffs, moving toward the door. "I’m leaving. Do you want me to turn off this lamp?”

“Would you just say it?” Arya says softly, her tone totally shifting as she turns back over to face her sister. Her eyes are bloodshot from the alcohol as the lamplight hits them. “Say it, so we can put it behind us, once and for all.”

Sansa studies her sister’s drunk, pleading face for a second, and feels a thousand thoughts run through her head. Sighing, she lets her hip rest against the door frame.

“I-,” Sansa starts, the younger girl stares at her for a second, face not faltering. She feels rooted, under the scrutiny of her little sister, the memory from the beginning of summer replaying in her mind. Shaking her head, she speaks.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Arya.” Her sister says, a little coldly.

“Hmph.” Arya huffs, turning toward the wall once more. “I figured.”

“Lamp off? Yes or no?” Sansa tries one more time, now incredibly frustrated.

“I never told them you know. Mom or dad.” Arya mumbles into her pillow. It’s muffled as she lies facing the other way. Sansa stands still as a statue at the words. “I would never tell them that.”

Her face feels hot, as the tears form in her eyes. _Do not cry right now_ , she wills herself, biting her lip as she holds the door knob.

“You’re my sister...” Arya continues, still facing away from her, speaking drunkenly into the pillow. “Even if you want to forget that you're my sister since then, you still are. And I think- no, I _know,_ that mom and dad wouldn’t give two shits. You know that? They reeeeally wouldn’t. They would say ‘as long as she’s happy.’ And they would mean that! And I think that you _were_ happy, and I think that’s why you sabotaged it on purpose. You just don’t want to be happy.”

Sansa offers no reply as she stands in silent tears in the doorway, biting her lip to muffle the sound, praying her little sister don’t turn over and look at her. _She has to know it's not that easy._

“I know that you saw me- when I saw you and her kiss on the step. I know that’s why you freaked out and stopped calling me, and texting me. I know that’s why you stopped being around the house anytime dad told you I would be staying here... I know all of that stuff and forgive it." Arya sounds like shes sniffling. "But I just really hope that isn’t why you ended it with her. Because I wouldn’t forgive you for _that_.” She slurs out, as if ' _that'_ is the most unforgivable thing a person could do. Sansa can only look at her ceiling and blink the tears away, when she hears her sister speak again. "You're not allowed to make me knowing about it, the reason that you sabotaged you and her. _You're_ the reason you sabotaged it. And I'm tired of feeling guilty about it. It wasn't me. It was you."

She waits for a minute in the doorway, but Arya doesn’t elaborate. Another minute, and she’s stopped her sniffling, and is snoring gently.

Walking in a few paces, she leans in to kiss her sleeping sister on the head. Through tears, she gets out a soft whisper. “I know you wouldn’t tell them, sis. It's not your fault that I screwed it up.. I love you.” Arya’s soft snoring continues as her older sister flicks off the lamp light, and gently closes the door behind her.  
_

“I am never drinking again.” Arya groans, shuffling to the refrigerator as if she had aged sixty years overnight.

“Yeah right.” Sansa quips, sipping her tea, peering over the newspaper at her younger sister.

She watches as she pours a glass of orange juice expertly to the brim. When it’s on the verge of overflowing, she leans down, and sips from it where it lays on the counter.

“There are pancakes on that plate with the tinfoil.” Sansa gestures, lowering the newspaper to point to the counter which contains the plate.

“Awwhh yeah!” Arya beams, as though her day has been made.

Taking the entire plate, Arya approaches the table. She begins to eat and there’s relative silence. Sansa studies the words on the paper, not reading a single one. They blur, from how hard she stares at the exact same spot, waiting to see if her sister remembers their exchange.

“Did dad stop by yet?” The brunette asks through a mouthful. “I only ask because you’re doing that thing. You know, where you sip on a mug and peer over the top of the paper at me, judging the way I eat, like he does.”

Sansa snorts. “I’m not judging the way you eat.” She lays down the newspaper. “Though, I would personally eat one pancake at a time instead of slicing through the four of them at once.”

“Not judging the way I eat, huh?”

“No. Just suggesting how I would do it. And no, he called earlier. He’s taking us to lunch.” Laying down her mug, she sits up straighter. "I was just about to head in and wake you up actually, when you came out."

Arya groans, laying down her fork and pushing back from the table in protest. “I have to be sober by lunch?”

“Very sober.” Sansa nods seriosly. “It’s election week. Who knows who we’ll run into. You shouldn’t have drank at all this week."

The younger sibling looks as though shes contemplating an answer, the way she purses her lips. “Umm, see, part of me says that; but part of me says that I should _stay_ drunk the entire week on purpose. That would make all the schmoozing easier.”

“Ah. So thats the secret, is it?” Sansa snickers.

“It’s certainly mine.” Arya nods. “Shit. It’s 10:45. I really have to shower.” She notes, looking at her Fitbit.

“Yes, you do.” Sansa nods. “Go. Your pancakes will still be here, I promise.”

Arya narrows her eyes as she pushes the chair in. “They better be. They're to die for. What's the uh, the red berry in them, anyways?" She gestures to the plate before her, eyebrows knitted in wonder. "It tastes really different, in a good way."

"Secret!" Sansa smirks.

"Hey now." Arya scolds. "No more secrets. Not after our talk last night." She smiles and winks before she disappears through the door frame. Sansa feels like her heart should be racing out of her chest at that comment, but more than anything, she's relieved that they never have to have that conversation again.

When she’s out of sight, Sansa stands and begins washing her own dishes from earlier, with a permanent smile on her face.

As she dries her hands, her eyes land on her phone. She debates for a second, before shrugging, and picking it up.

Finding her contact list, she scrolls down. She worries at her bottom lip as her eyes land on the newest entry. Clicking on it, she begins to type.

_**Hey, Margaery. It's Sansa. Have a safe flight today! :)** _

She hesitates, staring at it for a minute, changing the wording, then changing it back again. Looking at the clock, she realizes it will soon be 11. Shrugging, she hits send, and heads off to get ready.

 _This is gonna be a good day_ , she thinks, smiling to herself when her phone buzzes just a couple of minutes later.


End file.
